“I’m so sorry about that. I don’t know what’s the mat…what’s the…what’s wrong…” he said, and I realized his speech was growing slurred. Had he been drinking? Was that what was going on? He’d been tossing back beers and wandering in the woods while looking for some stupid tree?
“Are you drunk, Troy?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what’s wrong with your voice? Why are you talking like that?”
“I dunno. I really, really don’t feel good.”
Suddenly, I was afraid he might be having a stroke or something, but then I realized the more likely explanation was that if he’d been out there a while, maybe he’d become dehydrated. Not being used to outdoor activities, he probably hadn’t thought to bring along bottled water.
“Have you had any liquids lately? You could be dehydrated.”
“I had a diet soda with lunch, but I’ve been out here ever since, looking for this tree. It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack,” he said, though it came out sounding more like “neilinahaysta.”
I told him enough with the tree, that he was to head straight back to the house, drink a big glass of water, and lie down. I didn’t add that the sooner he did that, the sooner we could continue the important part of this conversation, and I could find out whether there was a connection between him and what had happened to me today.
“Where am I?” he murmured.
“You’re in the grove.”
“I know that, but what part? Which way is the house?”
Growing more concerned, I told Troy I was going to put him on hold and call Floyd to go outside, find him, and help him in.
“Floyd’s out of town. Won’t be back till tonight. Been gone since Monday.”
My B and B’s manager had been out of town for two days? Maybe that’s why Troy was still there, to hold down the fort until Floyd returned, something I knew they had done in the past. Though I doubted Troy knew how to serve a delicious country breakfast to the inn’s guests, at least he was handsome and charming, and as long as ladies were present, I didn’t think they would have any complaints.
On the other end of the line, I could hear what sounded like metal clanking against metal, and I asked Troy what he was doing now.
“Trying to get back to the B and B like you tol’ me to. It’s just this latch, it’s so complicated…” Another clank and then, “There, got it…no, wait. This isn’t right. Where am I?”
“I don’t know, Troy. What latch?”
“Jus’ a latch on a gate. But it’s okay. I think if I retrace my steps, like this…” More crunching as he walked. “No, tha’s not right either. I jus’ don’t understand. Where am I?”
“I don’t know, Troy. I’m trying to help you figure that out. It sounds as though you’re all turned around. Are there any signs nearby? Any benches? Markers? Are you near the creek? Tell me exactly what you see.”
“I see trees, Sienna. Lots of trees. I’m in a grove. What do you think I see?”
Sarcasm was good. At least it meant he wasn’t out of his head. Just lost and confused and no doubt in dire need of liquids.
The stupid thing was that this shouldn’t be a big deal. It wasn’t as though he was lost in a national park or something. Then again, I guess to someone not used to the wild outdoors at all, the various trees and paths could begin to look alike.
What I really wanted to do was to call my cousin Jonah, whose farm was on the other side of the grove. But Jonah was Amish, and the nearest phone for him was in a booth up by the main road, shared by more of our cousins who lived on a farm across the street from that. The shared phone had voice mail, but in my experience it wasn’t checked very often. If I left a message now, chances were good that they wouldn’t hear it for several days.
The only other person I could think to call was my Uncle Emory, who lived on the other side of the grove. But Emory was mentally disabled, and though he knew the grove like the back of his hand, I didn’t think I should put on him the responsibility of delivering Troy to safety.
“I think I see it now, what I did wrong before. I just have to—”
He stopped.
“Have to what?”
No response.
“Troy? You just have to what?”
“Shhh,” he finally whispered. “Do you hear that? What is it?” I strained to listen but couldn’t pick up anything. “Weird. I’ve never heard a sound like that before. Is it a machine? An animal?”
“I don’t know, Troy. I’m not hearing anything.”
“It’s like a hum, a low hum,” he said softly. “Like, I can almost feel it more than hear it. Sort of a rumble, you know? Almost like an earthquake, a tiny little earthquake.”
I didn’t know what to make of that. Was he having hallucinations? Should I hang up with him and call 911? While I tried to decide what to do, the phone remained silent.
“Are you still there?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Still hearing it?”
“No. It stopped. I don’t know what it was, but it stopped.”
I stood, wishing I could drive there myself. But even without traffic it would take a minimum of forty minutes, and I was afraid he might not have that much time to spare if he really was hallucinating.
“Listen, Troy, I think you should call nine-one-one. You need some help.” I didn’t add that once we hung up I would call them too on his behalf, just to be safe.
“Wait a sec. I don’ think that’s necessary, I…oh…Oh!”
I cringed, afraid he was going to throw up again. Instead, he let out a little whoop.
“I see it! Way over there! I can see the roof of the B and B. Okay, I’m good. It’s just a straight shot from here.”
His voice still sounded slurred, but at least the end was in sight. I didn’t know much about dehydration, but I had a feeling if he wasn’t too far gone all he needed to do was drink some liquids and rest. If that wasn’t enough, well, then we could call 911 after all.
“I’m sorry I bothered you with all of this, Sienna. Such a big fuss over a stupid tree. Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll be all right. We can talk later.”
“Troy, wait. Don’t hang up.”
The crunch of his footsteps changed, and I realized that as he walked it was sounding less like leaves and more like gravel, which meant he really was on the right track. The grove sat in a long, flat oval, and it was encircled around the perimeter by a gravel path. If he was on gravel now and could see the inn in the distance, then I had a general idea of where he was and I knew he wouldn’t get lost again.
“Now that you have found your way, get back to what you were saying before. What did you mean, you didn’t see this coming? Do you know anything about my being investigated?”
He didn’t answer at first, but I knew he was there because I could hear his footsteps and his breathing.
“Troy? Talk to me. What do you know?”
He exhaled slowly.
“Look, I’ll put it this way,” he said finally. “Jus’ don’t blame me if the feds are on to things here, okay? Tha’s Floyd’s fault, not mine.”
“Things?” I demanded. “What things?”
“Tha’s all I’m saying. I didn’t mess up. Floyd did. Look, I gotta go.”
And then, without another word, he hung up.
For the next ten minutes, I tried calling him back, but he wasn’t answering. I left several urgent messages in his voice mail, each one angrier than the one before. Finally, I switched tactics and tried calling the bed-and-breakfast directly, even though Troy had said Floyd wasn’t there. That call also went to voice mail, and after I heard my own recorded self politely asking callers to leave a message and we would get back to them, I practically yelled into the phone, “Floyd, this is Sienna Collins. Call me on my cell phone. Now.”
I heard the back door opening as I disconnected the call, and I looked up to see my father standing in the doorway, concern etched across his features.
“Hone
y? Is everything okay?”
I tried to recover from the moment, squaring my shoulders and smoothing my hair. Should I tell him? I wanted to. But did he really need to take on my burdens when he was burdened enough already?
Trying to make my voice sound light, I simply said that I was having some issues at work, and that I was sorry I had to be out here fussing at people on the phone rather than visiting with him and Mom.
“Listen, she and I both know how busy you are, especially with the new job. It was an incredibly sweet gesture for you to come out here tonight, but please don’t feel that you have to stay. You got some cooking done, and for that I am grateful. Almost burned the corn bread, but I got it out in time.”
The corn bread! With Troy’s call I had forgotten all about it.
“Anyway,” he continued, “please don’t think you have to stick around just because you feel like you should. It’s the thought that counts.”
If his words had come from anyone else, I might have seen them as suspect, thinking I wasn’t wanted or something. But I knew him too well, and I was confident my father’s selfless sentiments were genuine.
And though being with my parents really was where I belonged right now, I also knew I wouldn’t be any good to either of them until everything was sraightened out. Bottom line, I needed to drive out to Lancaster County and confront Troy face-to-face.
FOUR
Fifteen minutes later I was on the road and talking to Liz, who said that so far she hadn’t been able to come up with anything. I told her about my bizarre conversation with Troy, but she became so worked up at the thought that this situation might somehow involve him that I didn’t have the nerve to admit that at that moment I was on my way to see him.
Better she learn that after the fact, once I had confronted him and forced him to give me more information. Liz promised to keep looking into things on her end, and after we hung up I couldn’t help but feel as if the weight of the world was resting on my shoulders.
Seeing my poor mother and what she was going through had helped to put the whole mess in perspective, but there was no denying that it was indeed a mess, one very confusing, ugly mess, and right now the only hope I had of cleaning it up was walking down a gravel path at Harmony Grove, babbling about earthquakes and likely suffering from dehydration. Depending on traffic, the trip to the inn could take as little as forty minutes or as much as an hour and a half. Regardless, it was the only course of action I had for now. I headed west and continued to dial Troy’s cell phone number every ten minutes or so along the way. Between calls, I gobbled down the large chunk of corn bread my father had pushed on me as I was leaving.
Of course, given the day I was having, traffic ended up being exceptionally heavy. By the time I turned from the main road onto the street that led to my final destination, it was after 7:00 p.m. Even in my current distracted, angry, and frightened state of mind, the beauty of the scenery took my breath away, as it always had.
Passing one patchwork farm after another, barely visible now in the fading light, I couldn’t help but think how different my life would have turned out if my grandfather hadn’t broken away from the Amish faith back in the forties and gone down a different path. If my father had been raised Amish, would he have stayed in the fold? If so, if he had raised me to be Amish too, would I now be living on a farm of my own somewhere, wearing a kapp and picking vegetables with my five children and cooking meals on a propane-powered stove? Would the man who took me in his arms after a long day have a beard with no mustache and wear broadfall trousers I had sewed for him with my own hands?
Slowing as I reached the entrance to Harmony Grove Bed and Breakfast, I put on my blinker and turned into the driveway. Flanked on the right by thick woods and on the left by an open pasture, the long driveway made for a spectacular sight when there was light enough to see.
Uncle Emory’s driveway ran parallel to mine but on the other side of the pasture. And though my house was twice the size of his, he had something I didn’t: a covered bridge, very near the road, through which ran the beginning of his driveway over a lazy, trickling stream. Though technically not on my property, that bridge was part of the allure of the B and B, and it was clearly visible from the front windows of the bedrooms upstairs. The left windows looked out over the grove, which was placed at an angle between Emory’s land and mine, and the back windows looked out on parts of the grove as well, plus the graceful, tree-lined yard, and the small swimming pool behind the inn that I’d had put in during the renovation.
Reaching the end of the driveway now where it widened into a small parking lot, I saw two cars there. If memory served, the Honda was Floyd’s. I supposed the BMW was Troy’s, though it could also have belonged to a guest. I wondered if Floyd had just arrived home or if he’d been here all along and Troy had lied to me earlier when he said Floyd was out of town. Coming to a stop in the farthest slot, I got out of my car and placed my hand on the hood of the Honda.
It felt slightly warm, which meant it may have recently been driven. Perhaps Floyd really had been gone.
Leaving all of my things in the car, I headed up the walk to my inn, startled to see that the exterior was completely bare of landscaping: no flowers in the flower beds, no hanging plants along the back porch, no blossoms beside the walkway that led to the pool. I peered into the distance, trying to see if anything was planted in the two giant clay pots that flanked the gate to the pool area, but it was too dark to tell right now.
Shaking my head, I paused at the bottom of the back steps, remembering what my father had told me. Last spring, when my mother was feeling better than usual, he had brought her out here for a mini vacation. I had been so excited for them and eager to hear how their trip went, but after they were back home my dad told me that I might want to know that as beautiful as I had managed to make this place on the inside, the outside was still incredibly bland and sparse, with no flowers—not even a single hanging plant. He knew I’d had trouble with this same issue the previous summer and that I would want to get a jump on things this time. I had e-mailed Floyd about the matter, and he had responded that he would take care of it. After that, I had never thought of it again until now. As I reached the back door and pulled it open, I realized that despite Floyd’s assurances, nothing had ever been done in the matter. That made me nervous, because it led me to wonder what other tasks Floyd was supposed to have handled but hadn’t.
At least the interior is nice and clean, I thought as I moved into the large sitting room inside the back door. I glanced at the elegant furnishings and fixtures, wishing I could simply enjoy wandering around the entire inn, inside and out, and letting my eyes linger on all the fabulous little touches that we had included in the renovation. It had been a while since I was last here. But that would have to wait for another time. Right now I needed to speak to Troy and most definitely to Floyd as well.
Despite the little bell that had jangled over the door when I came in, no one seemed to realize I was here.
“Troy? Floyd?”
I called out both men’s names several times, and when they didn’t reply I checked the kitchen and the office, both of which were empty, and then I went to the far end of the hall and knocked on the door to the room I knew Troy stayed in when he was here. He didn’t answer, but I pushed it open anyway to see if maybe he was lying on the bed. I could tell that he was indeed staying in this room, as his suitcase was near the window and what looked like a wallet and keys were on the dresser. The bed was made but not neatly, as if he had simply gotten out of it and smoothed the covers. His window was open, and white lace curtains fluttered gently in the evening breeze.
I closed the door and returned to the main sitting area, coming back around to the door of the room where Floyd lived. I knocked on it, but he didn’t answer, and so again I opened it up anyway and peeked inside. Floyd’s bed was neatly made, with a navy duffel bag sitting on top. But he was nowhere in sight, and through the open door to his darkened bathroom I could see t
hat no one was in there, either.
I decided they must be outside. Taking one more quick look in the kitchen just to be sure, I saw that at least one of them had recently been in there making themselves a sandwich. On the counter was an open jar of mayonnaise with a knife sticking out of it, and beside that a bag of bread and a plate with half of one sandwich made. As I had done with the car, I put my hand on the mayonnaise jar. It was cold.
It was growing so dark outside that I flipped on the exterior lights before going back out. I didn’t see or hear anyone, but I called out their names again several times, each time progressively louder. When no one answered, I stood there in the silence for a moment, trying to see if I could hear anything.
Unlike Troy, I had always appreciated the outdoors and enjoyed getting back to nature, but that didn’t mean it didn’t take some adjusting for me too. Ears used to city noise always had trouble getting a handle on such complete country silence.
With only the chirp of crickets as accompaniment, I called out the men’s names yet again and decided they must be further out back or maybe over in the grove. Perhaps Troy hadn’t made it to the house after all, and Floyd was out looking for him.
Gripped by a disturbing sense of urgency, I called Troy’s cell phone one last time, but he still didn’t answer. Taking a deep breath, I then decided to try Floyd’s phone. If he also didn’t answer, I would call the police. Hoping it wouldn’t come to that, I punched in Floyd’s number and waited for it to ring at the other end of the line.
Much to my surprise, however, not only could I hear it ringing through the phone, but I could also hear an actual phone ringing somewhere not too far away.
“Floyd?”
He didn’t answer, so I followed the sound, moving toward the solid fencing that surrounded the pool area. Could he be inside there? If so, why? It was too late in the year to go swimming, that was for sure. And he obviously wasn’t planting flowers. His phone went to voice mail, so I disconnected the call and then redialed it again.
Secrets of Harmony Grove Page 4
